Through Rose-Tinted Spectacles

I feed your addiction.

An ongoing minimal dose;

My attentions on a drip.

“The doctor will see you now”

But you’re only ever in the waiting room.

Thought I’d try non-love poetry following the structure of a Shakespearean sonnet:

The storm clouds gather; the shadows descend.

All light is gone from the world in despair

But you do not see, because I pretend;

There is no scar for the pain that I bear.

I sit at the eye of the hurricane

With a tempest raging inside my head

Being tossed and turned. Trussed and spurned. In pain.

This sterile frame retreats to sleep instead.

But this world is construct of my own fears

Save me from myself; I cannot break loose

Redrafting my last, my eyes sear with tears,

As in dire torment, I long for the noose.

Reverse paranoia; I see their guile:

Always they are plotting to make me smile.

The seed of self-doubt
An unwelcome weed takes root,
Asphyxiating.

A recreative soliloquy in response to Shakespeare’s Hamlet which implicates Queen Gertrude in Ophelia’s death

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Masquerade

Have you ever dared strip back the surface?

A skin once so tough

Now stretched too thin

Like butter over too much bread; deceit.

Have you ever guessed there is more than greets the eye?

A false smile once so secure

Now less as sure

A pretence only skin-deep; deceit.

Or have I never braved to abandon the masquerade?

A corruption of ‘Cinderella’ in the style of Angela Carter

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Celestial

A conscious cosmos

We are children of the stars

Ad infinitum